


so I’ll go, but I’ll think of you every step of the way

by rinsled05



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feels, M/M, Sexual Content, Tragic Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 15:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsled05/pseuds/rinsled05
Summary: Yuuri came in a box with his eyes closed and his hands folded atop his belly, looking for all the world like he was asleep. A life-sized doll, soft and alluring, dressed in a purple kimono made of silk and limned with glitter. “SR800: YUURI, Japanese model,” read the tag on the side, with Christophe’s elegant cursive below the printed words.“For your enjoyment and unlimited pleasure.P.S. Don’t get attached.~Chris”Victuuri futuristic android AU. Yuuri is a sex android and Viktor gets more than attached.[Written for Yuri on Ice Scifi Zine, in collaboration with the talented ammoniium @ tumblr]--Russian translation by Sheally @ AO3here





	so I’ll go, but I’ll think of you every step of the way

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the YOI scifi zine organizers for the wonderful opportunity!

_“Don’t get attached.”_

Viktor watches as Yuuri takes in the fireworks with wide eyes. Marvels at the smudge of his eyelashes, the bright lights reflected in the soft brown of his eyes, the way his pink lips part in awe and delight. He flushes when Yuuri turns to look at him—caught in the act—but Yuuri smiles, sweet as the cotton candy in his hand. So beautiful, so real.

So _human._

Viktor is well aware that Yuuri’s an android built to look, talk, act like a human. To serve humans, in whatever role they were programmed to play. Yuuri is the latest model created to be a sexual companion. Or in Viktor’s case, a gift from Christophe, son and heir to “e.v.o.l.v.e”, the biggest robotics firm in the country.

Yuuri came in a box with his eyes closed and his hands folded atop his belly, looking for all the world like he was asleep. A life-sized doll, soft and alluring, dressed in a purple _kimono_ made of silk and limned with glitter. “SR800: YUURI, Japanese model,” read the tag on the side, with Christophe’s elegant cursive below the printed words.

_“For your enjoyment and unlimited pleasure._  
_P.S. Don’t get attached.  
_ _~Chris"_  

Yuuri tugs at Viktor’s sleeve, points at one of the many stalls lining the stone path. There’s a wisp of cotton candy on the tip of his nose, and Viktor can’t help but reach out. Swipes the smidgen of floss off with the pad of his thumb, heart thudding as Yuuri blushes, a sweep of pink across his cheeks. 

He’s not dressed the part anymore, not in the _kimono_ he came in. After activation, Viktor bought Yuuri clothes and shoes and every accessory he could think of, gave him the option to choose whatever he wanted. “Thank you,” Yuuri had said, his smile so soft and warm that Viktor’s heart tripped, and hadn’t stopped falling since.

They visit every stall—from food to festival items to assorted games—so Yuuri can sample and experience everything. That’s the thing about Yuuri: he’s curious. He was programmed with infinite knowledge of how to drive a human mad with want, but he’s lacking in every other aspect of human life. So he asks questions about everything and anything he comes across.

“That’s a mask,” Viktor says when Yuuri holds up the face of a fox, his eyes wide and bright through the open slits.

“It’s cute,” Yuuri laughs, a warm sound that makes Viktor’s fingers itch. “What’s it for?”

“For fun.” Viktor’s smile twitches at the corners. “Or to hide who you really are. 

For a moment, Yuuri gazes at Viktor, eyes soft. Then he presses the mask on Viktor’s face, slips the thread round Viktor’s head and tightens it. As Viktor cocks his head to one side, bewildered, Yuuri steps back, hands clasping behind his back.

“I like this mask on you better than the ones you wear on TV.”

Viktor’s chest clenches.

_“Don’t get attached.”_

How? How can anyone not get attached to a being so full of heart and emotions, a bright star in the darkness leading him home?

Viktor can’t tell if it’s a glitch in the software or a part of the programming. But Yuuri lives, breathes, and _feels_ things. Like the time when he laughed at something Viktor said, when he clutched at Viktor during a horror film, head buried in Viktor’s chest. When he wept, unabashed and unrestrained, cheek pressed against Makkachin’s still-warm fur.

Viktor realizes, belatedly, that Yuuri’s no longer by his side. Heart seizing, he whirls about, eyes darting from person to person, searching each face for those dark bangs, the honey-brown eyes, that soft pink mouth.

There have been incidents of androids being kidnapped, sold on the black market at exorbitant prices. Yuuri’s barcode isn’t conspicuous, but it is visible, strips of black lines running down the skin beneath his right ear. Viktor is certain that a Japanese model would be in high demand, with its unique looks and submissive programming.

For the first time in the long time, Viktor feels terror race up his spine.

“Viktor!”

At the sound of Yuuri’s voice—the sight of Yuuri waving at him, cheerily, from a stall—the surge of relief up his throat nearly makes him choke. Striding up, he tugs Yuuri into his arms. “I thought I lost you,” he whispers against Yuuri, face tucked into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor and holds him. Yuuri, an unfeeling robot, understands. “I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

“No, it’s fine, I just… I panicked.” Viktor lets out a shaky laugh, presses his mouth on the black lines. “Why’d you stop at this stall?”

Yuuri pulls back to smile at Viktor. “I saw something really pretty.”

“What is it?”

Yuuri turns to the row of accessories displayed on the oak table. “That one,” he says, and Viktor’s gaze follows his finger to a small jeweled brooch - a gemstone, blue as clear water, resting on a set of crystal wings. “It has the color of your eyes.”

_Oh_ , Viktor thinks. He has gone far beyond attached.

 

* * *

 

“So? How’s the android doing?”

Viktor sneaks a glance at Yuuri, who’s stretched out on the couch, flipping through a magazine. The brooch sparkles on his shirt collar, a distinct, vivid blue, and he has been wearing it since Viktor bought it for him at the festival. Even when it clearly doesn’t match the rest of his outfit.

“Just fine,” Viktor says, turning back to Christophe’s hologram.

Christophe quirks an eyebrow. “You’ve got that smile.”

“What smile?”

“The ‘my god I love him so much I could die’ smile.”

Viktor runs a hand through his hair. Trust his childhood friend to read him like a book. “Can you blame me? I was lonely, I was bored, I was running out of ideas for another unpredictable routine, and then you send me... “ He glances at Yuuri again, mouth curving involuntarily. “...you send me Yuuri.”

“Viktor,” Christophe says, chastising. “He’s a _robot_.”

“I know, _I know._ ” Viktor pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I try to remind myself too, that it’s probably just his software, his _programming_ , to act like he cares, like he’s kind and compassionate and _loving_ _—_ ”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up.” Christophe’s hologram expands as he leans in, brows furrowed. “You’re telling me your model has... emotions?”

“Practically overflowing with them. He cried when Makkachin left us." 

“Huh,” Christophe says.

Viktor frowns. “Is that out of the ordinary?”

Christophe’s fingers scrub at the light fuzz on his chin. “Emotions are complex, Viktor. Far too complex to pin down, much less program. It’s the one thing that separates us humans from, well. Everything else on our planet.”

“So… so everything Yuuri feels, all of that…” Viktor closes his eyes, heart pounding against his ribs. All this time, he had been wondering; all this time, he wasn’t sure. “Chris, he liked a brooch because he thought it was pretty. Because it has the color of my eyes.”

“Huh,” Christophe says again.

“Viktor,” Yuuri calls from the couch, breaking the silence. “I found a cute dog in this magazine! Come see!”

Something about that helps Christophe find his words in a voice rapidly rising in excitement. “Bring him in. We have to take him apart and study him. We - Viktor, c’mon,” he says, sing-song and cajoling, recognizing the shadow that crosses Viktor’s face, “This is a breakthrough in artificial intelligence—”

Viktor shuts off the hologram. Steps over to where Yuuri is, where he can curl up against Yuuri’s warmth, without masks, lies, expectations.

No one can take his heart, his home, away from him. Not even Chris.

  

* * *

 

Viktor takes Yuuri and disappears off the map, tossing out what used to be his old life. Or some semblance of a life. As a professional athlete, he has never thought about life or love before Yuuri. Never had the time. And now, suddenly, that’s all he wants and needs.

He chooses their new home on some faraway island, where people wouldn’t think to look for him. It’s a tiny apartment, ten times smaller than his downtown penthouse suite in the city. But watching Yuuri now, his forearms shifting as he moves boxes into the living room, Viktor feels a wave of contentment wash over him. This is why they moved: to start a new life, just the two of them, together.

Setting the last box down, Yuuri straightens. His eyes roam, taking in the cramped space, the ratty chairs, the cracks and wallpaper peeling off at odd points across the walls. “This looks… different,” he manages, sweetly tactful for an android. “Why have we moved here?”

Viktor comes up behind Yuuri to bracket Yuuri’s hips with his hands, fit their bodies together. “City life got a little too suffocating,” he hums, nose sinking into dark strands.

Yuuri’s hands drop to rest over Viktor’s. “Is that it? City life?”

“Mmhm.”

“Not because you were ashamed of me?”

Viktor frowns. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because we haven’t done the one thing I’m programmed to do.” Yuuri looks back over his shoulder, eyes bright. “Am I not to your satisfaction, physically?”

Viktor’s chest tightens; that couldn’t be any further from the truth. He has lost count of the number of times he caught himself staring at the curve of Yuuri’s ass, imagined the feel of Yuuri’s strong, muscled thighs wrapped firmly around his head as he swallows Yuuri down.

But Yuuri doesn’t have a will of his own, is virtually unable to give consent. It’s one thing if Yuuri is devoid of emotions, but he isn’t _._ And somehow, that doesn’t feel right.

“You’re beautiful,” Viktor says, spinning Yuuri around to face him, to brush a feathery kiss against one cheek, then the other. “You make me want to do all sorts of filthy, unspeakable things to you, but I don’t want to force you into something just because of your programming.”

Yuuri opens his mouth, but Viktor presses a finger to it. “And we moved because I want to be myself, with someone who knows and cares about the real me. Does that make sense?”

A pause, then Yuuri nods. Parts his lips. And Viktor feels a sound catch in his throat when the tip of Yuuri’s tongue presses against his finger, teasing, hot breath heating up skin.

“What if I said I was ready?” Yuuri says, a whisper between them.

It takes a moment for Viktor to shake out of his trance and drag his finger away, the rest of his hand trembling from the effort. “Are you saying that because you’re programmed to say it,” he says, voice wavering, “Or because you’re actually ready?”

Yuuri’s brows knit together in confusion. “...I don’t know.”

Viktor breathes, kisses Yuuri on the forehead. Relieved, and if he were honest, just a little disappointed. “Until you do, no sex.”

 

* * *

 

Months later, Viktor and Yuuri have fallen into a routine. Everything about it is simple: from their 9 to 5 jobs to the meals they cook together to their habit of watching movies on the couch every Friday night.

And Viktor has never been happier. Especially when he stops watching TV, annoyed by the news for its unending commentary on his disappearance. ( _Still Missing: The Figure Skating World’s Living Legend_ , scream the daily captions in blazing red font.)

It bothers him, too, that the ads for Yuuri’s model are disconcertingly centered around Yuuri’s “exotic features” and “automatic lubrication”. After all the times he had to yelp _television off_ every time Yuuri brightly said _oh it’s me_ , he decided to forego the TV altogether.

Save for Friday movie nights. It’s Viktor’s favorite part of their routine: when Yuuri would press up close, riveted by the flickering images on screen. They share a bed too, of course, but there’s something sweet about the way Yuuri’s body slackens against his on the couch, the way his head tips onto Viktor’s shoulder until he dozes off.

Viktor knows it’s a part of Yuuri’s software to mimic the act of sleeping; the unique feature is advertised loudly enough on his commercials. Still, Viktor would lace their fingers together, press his lips against Yuuri’s temple, and Yuuri would sigh, a sound that makes Viktor’s heart swell too large for his chest.

That’s what ultimately does Viktor in.

It happens again, like clockwork: the flutter of Yuuri’s eyelashes as he drifts off, the weight of Yuuri’s head on his shoulder, dark strands tickling Viktor’s nose and cheek. So beautiful, so content. Wanting nothing more from Viktor than _Viktor_ himself.

“I love you,” he blurts out, unable to contain the words any longer.

Yuuri doesn’t respond, and for a second, Viktor wonders if it’s too soon – if he has overestimated the extent of Yuuri’s humanity. But Yuuri shifts, and his fingers press into Viktor’s jaw, his cheeks, to maneuver Viktor until they’re face to face. “I love you too,” he says, eyes bright.

The surge of emotion is so overwhelming that Viktor can’t breathe. Can’t help but tip forward to fit their mouths together, hands sliding up to Yuuri’s waist as Yuuri’s hands slip into his hair. “Do you mean that?” he asks in between kisses. “Do you really mean that?”

Yuuri huffs out a laugh. “I’m definitely not programmed to say that.”

Oh, but that parting of his lips, the brush of his tongue against Viktor’s bottom lip. _That_ , Viktor thinks, grip tightening, has to be his programming. He catches himself lowering Yuuri to the couch before he finally says something. It’s hard to resist, with Yuuri’s mouth so hot and sweet on his.

“Yuuri,” he murmurs. “Yuuri, are you—”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, nipping at his earlobe, admonishing.

Viktor’s chuckle comes out more than a little strained. Yuuri isn’t the only impatient one, but he has to be certain. “Are you really—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuuri says again. He pulls away, eyes narrowed, dark and molten. “Viktor Nikiforov, I want you. I want you inside me, I want you to fuck me so hard I can barely walk tomorrow.”

Well.

Viktor tugs Yuuri close, kisses him hard. “If that’s what you want,” he croons.

And he gives Yuuri exactly what he wants, right there on the couch. They’re too far gone to move to the bed, and when Yuuri sinks down, taking Viktor inch by inch until he’s seated fully against Viktor’s hips, Viktor is lost in the feel of Yuuri. In his warmth and smell and – god the ad wasn’t joking about automatic lubrication.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, breathless and full of wonder.

And then he moves, slow rolls of his hips, a litany of _Viktor_ and _ah_ and _so good_ spilling from his lips. It’s—god—it’s amazing. Yuuri’s amazing. Throat hitching, Viktor presses his mouth on the black strips beneath Yuuri’s ear. A touch of tenderness before he snaps his hips up to meet Yuuri’s, slamming in deep.

“Hard enough for you?” Viktor whispers.

The noise Yuuri makes is so obscene that Viktor takes it—grip tight on Yuuri’s hips—as a resounding _yes_.

It doesn’t take long like that, not with Yuuri’s hands on his chest and soft moans in his ear, the sight of Yuuri rising and falling to the rhythm of his thrusts. Viktor comes first, pulling Yuuri down for a kiss, and Yuuri follows right after, Viktor’s name on his tongue.

“Bed?” Yuuri says after they’ve caught their breaths. Wordlessly, Viktor sweeps him up and into the bedroom, feeling alight at the sound of Yuuri’s laughter.

 

* * *

 

When Viktor opens his eyes, Yuuri is still asleep, head pressed into Viktor’s shoulder, dark hair falling across his face. His breath catches at the sight of Yuuri bathed in the light streaming through the curtains, golden hues melting into the hollow of his throat and down the planes of his chest. 

Warmth fills his chest, swirling through him in ribbons. He must have done something spectacular in his past life; why else would he be this lucky?

Viktor brushes a feathery kiss against Yuuri’s forehead before he leaves to prepare breakfast. Yuuri doesn’t eat, but he enjoys sitting with Viktor at the dining table. Viktor wants it all set up by the time his sleeping beauty is awake.

When Yuuri pops out of the bedroom, hair mussed and sleepy-eyed, Viktor feels as tender as Yuuri looks. He gives in to the urge to kiss Yuuri, one hand curling around the back of his neck. “How’re you feeling?” he murmurs.

“Good,” Yuuri says softly. He leans in for another kiss, which Viktor gladly offers. “Really good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Viktor says, trying not to feel too smug. While he flips the eggs on the pan, Yuuri takes his usual seat at the table and begins thumbing through the papers. Silence falls between them, and Viktor aches at how comfortable it feels, how right. It’s not a silence he would have been able to achieve in the city, with fans and paparazzi dogging his every move.

He glances over in time to catch Yuuri’s eyes dart back to the papers, cheeks dusted pink. He pretends not to notice, heart full. “Could you get the juice from the fridge? The eggs are almost done.”

Yuuri nods, propping his hands on the table. Seconds before his face turns stricken.

“Yuuri?” Viktor says, frowning. 

Yuuri looks up, eyes drawn wide.

“I can’t move my legs,” he says.

Viktor tries everything, from elevating Yuuri’s feet and placing hot compresses, to kneading his legs in some sort of frantic massage to move the circulation. It might be cramps from all the exertion last night. No, it must be cramps; the alternatives are too frightening to consider. Panic sweeps up Viktor’s throat, closing it, until his mind supplies the jiggle to Yuuri’s TV commercial and it dawns on him all at once.

Yuuri’s not human.

“How long have we been together?” he asks. His fingers are still pushing into Yuuri’s muscles; he has to do something, or he can’t think straight otherwise.

Yuuri’s gaze lifts to the ceiling. “Umm… three years?”

“And when do you need...” Viktor shakes his head, pushes the word out, “...updates?”

Yuuri opens his mouth, closes it. Flushes. “Every six months…?”

Viktor draws in a sharp breath. “Why didn’t you say something? Without updates, your system…”

“You don’t like thinking of me as an android, and I…” Yuuri’s voice turns small. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Viktor’s chest goes tight; nothing Yuuri does could ever upset him. Brushing hair off Yuuri’s face, he tells Yuuri as much. Smiles as Yuuri’s flush deepens.

“What should we do now?” Yuuri asks, resting a hand over Viktor’s.

Viktor kisses him, mouth soft. “I’ll get a system update for you in the city.”

 

* * *

 

Wearing sunglasses, hood pulled over his head, Viktor is relieved when the burly staff in the android store gives him a once over, eyebrows raised. Better to be seen as some shady hooligan from the slums than be recognized.

“We’re happy to help,” the staff concedes. “What model is your android, Sir?”

“SR800. The ah,” Viktor feels his insides cringe, “The Japanese one.”

“Ah, our Sex Robot series.” The staff’s smirk makes Viktor dig his fists deeper into his jacket pockets. “Let me look that up and get back to you.”

Viktor is browsing the latest android accessories— _new tattoo designs to spice up your robot’s look!_ —when the staff returns.

“I’m afraid we no longer have updates for that model, Sir. It’s too obsolete.” He gestures at the line of androids displayed against the walls of the store, mistaking Viktor’s dark look for disappointment. “We can offer you a new one at a discounted price—”

Viktor walks out of store without hearing the rest.

Obsolete? And to suggest _replacing_ Yuuri. He was this close to decking the man.

At a stoplight, Viktor notes the way people walk by one another, soulless stares fixed straight ahead. Moving to their destination without any thought to their surroundings, to where they are at present, like robots. Worse than robots, really. He looks up at the skyscrapers blocking out the blue sky above, and remembers why he always felt so lonely in the city, why he grew tired of his career. Why Chris gifted him with Yuuri in the first place.

He can’t wait to go back to his home. To Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

At first, Yuuri’s deteriorating system seems manageable. His workplace is accommodating to his needs, and he begins moving about in a wheelchair, with Viktor fussing over him every hour of the day. He starts to process things a little slower, unable to register some of Viktor’s words and forgetting others. But he’s still happy and positive and the same old Yuuri, if not a little frustrated at the changes.

It’s when Yuuri loses his vision (“ _Viktor? Viktor, are you there? I can’t_ —” _“I’m here, solnyshko, I’m right here_ —”) that Viktor calls Christophe in a frenzied panic.

Even on a hologram, Christophe’s expression overflows with a mixture of amusement and irritation— _Really, Viktor? Eloping with an android?_ —but he goes quiet when Viktor begs.

Viktor, the “living legend”, never begs.

“Please,” Viktor pleads in the silence. “He can’t see, and he’s scared— _I’m_ scared—”

“Yuuri’s the first in a series of experimental programs to give androids emotions,” Christophe cuts in.

“What?”

“He’s the first, Viktor. The first and only to succeed. That’s why I wanted to study him.”

Viktor straightens. “Then you _knew_. This whole time. But your warning—”

“I wanted to give you a companion,” Christophe sighs. “Not a partner for life.”

“All right, well. That aside.” Viktor’s heart rises in hope. “This means you can fix him?”

The look on Christophe’s face kicks his heart right back down to his knees. “I do have an upgrade but you’re not going to like it.”

“What do you mean?”

“With an upgrade this large, Yuuri will need a full system reset.”

Viktor feels his mind tunnel in, his insides hollow out. Christophe’s mouth is still moving, but his voice sounds as if he’s underwater. Three blissful years, only to lose the one thing he treasures most. The one thing that gave him life.

“So his memory of me, of us.” Christophe stops talking as Viktor looks up at him, dry-eyed. “Gone?”

“It’s that, or you lose him completely. We’ve scrapped the SR800 models, they’re—”

“Obsolete,” Viktor finishes, cold burning through his gut. They don’t deserve this. _Yuuri_ doesn’t deserve this. So much for spectacular deeds in his past life. 

Christophe’s gaze is filled with sympathy. “Want some time to mull it over?”

Viktor closes his eyes. “Yes.”

He tells Yuuri what Christophe said. And Yuuri is… calm. The initial panic he felt at the sudden fall of darkness has vanished, replaced by resigned acceptance. For a moment, no one speaks, with Yuuri frowning at some point on the ground, while Viktor quivers with restrained emotions, knees on the ground, hands on the arms of Yuuri’s wheelchair.

Then warm palms frame his face, tugging him into a hug, and Yuuri’s breath gusts over his cheek, tender and soft. “I want to be with you,” he whispers. “Even if it means I have to learn to love you all over again.”

That’s when Viktor breaks. Clings to Yuuri, shaking, face buried in the crook of his neck. Yuuri holds him, whispering sweet words against his skin until he can breathe again.

This is Yuuri’s choice—his very loving, human choice—and Viktor will honor it. As much as it tears him apart.

 

 

* * *

 

The door slides open, and Christophe steps out.

“He’s ready.”

Heart thudding, Viktor goes in, eyes drawn instantly to Yuuri who looks for all the world like he is sleeping. Just as he used to in their bed, on their couch, every Friday night.

Viktor lays a hand on Yuuri’s cheek, reveling in the warmth he has so missed, before he slips his fingers around to press the switch on the back of Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri awakens with whirring noises. He blinks a few times, orienting to his surroundings. Then he turns to smile at Viktor, brown eyes lighting up just as they did the very first time. 

“Hello, my name is Yuuri.”

In his chest, Viktor’s heart soars.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsled05/works) or come squeal with me on tumblr @ [dreaming-fireflies](http://dreaming-fireflies.tumblr.com/) or twitter @ [rinsled05](https://twitter.com/rinsled05).
> 
> Please also check out Ammy's fabulous art on her tumblr @ [ammoniium](https://http://ammoniium.tumblr.com/) or twitter @ [ammybuns](https://twitter.com/ammybuns).


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